


I give whatever I'm worth

by Ljusastjarnan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College AU, M/M, Written for Terushima Week 2k17 day 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 06:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10680012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ljusastjarnan/pseuds/Ljusastjarnan
Summary: It's harder when you don't have a safety net.





	I give whatever I'm worth

It’s 9 am, their first seminar and the first thing that catches Oikawa’s eyes is the spiky bleach blonde hair and yellow jacket in a room of pressed grey shirts and combed back hair. The two seats next to him are free, presumably because he looks like a delinquent who accidentally walked into a veritable board meeting. The room was mostly silent, save for a couple of furtive conversations, each person caught in their own bubble, suspicious of their surroundings and unwilling to make first contact.

Oikawa almost looks for another seat too, until he notices “JVB” written on his back. He might be wrong— but he’s seen that jacket before. Maybe the kid was from Miyagi, he had vague memories of playing against them last year, before everything was eclipsed by their failures at the Inter-high.

There was no hesitation when he slips into the seat next to the kid.

“Hey.” He offers a smile, piling his books on the table in front.

The blond looks up, and immediately Oikawa thinks, _fuck_. He’s cute.

“Uh, hi?”

“Are you on the volleyball team by any chance? Sorry if this is a bit random, I used to go to Aoba Johsai, I think we’ve played with your team in the past and…” he trailed off. Was he coming off a bit too strong? The blond didn’t look interested. Didn’t look to be the type to be interested.

But the kid's eyes widen and he pushes away from the table, chair clattering on wooden boards. A couple of students beside them startle, but blond doesn’t seem to care.

“Dude yeah, right! I remember you. You were hot shit in highschool! I’m Terushima, and yeah that J stands for Johzenji.”

He motions to the letters on his jacket, and his expression was so openly happy that Oikawa suddenly doesn’t feel as homesick as he did since he came to Tokyo. He settles in his chair as the professor walks in, a stern looking bearded man who looks like he was used to commanding attention, and all of it. “Nice,” he settles instead, shooting a text to Iwaizumi under the desk.

 

> There’s someone on the volleyball team in my class!!!!

And after a little bit of consideration,

 

> He seems super dorky.

He looks back up at the lecturer, in his expensive suit and a displeased expression. Oikawa sheepishly closes his phone. Did he see? The small murmur of conversation that had started lulled as the professor looks to start talking. Oikawa thinks he’s a bit of a poser.

“Right, good to see you’ve all managed to find the right place on time.” He shuffles some documents around. “So this is foundations of law, the first unit you’ll be taking for this course. Presumably you are all smart and dedicated students to have made it here, but don’t start thinking you can slack off just because you’ve made it. You’ll find yourself failing your units very fast.”

With that ominous warning, people sit up a little bit straighter, while beside him, Terushima slinks into the table, a small pout building on his lips. Oikawa laughs quietly, and takes out his buzzing phone.

 

> Shut and concentrate on class, Shittykawa.

And then, a couple of seconds later:

 

> See, told you Tokyo wouldn’t be so bad.

* * *

* * *

Oikawa doesn’t see Terushima again until they hold tryouts for the first years, and Oikawa waves when he sees the blond mulling in the crowd of other first years, jogging over with a ready smile, the one he knows to knock people off their feet. “Teru-chan! What are you doing here? We’re just getting ready for the tryouts now, and we could use a hand with the spikes. Ushiwaka’s got some interview with the Athletics Club sponsors so us lowly commonfolk are a bit short-handed at the moment.”

Terushima stares at him like he’s speaking gibberish for a moment, and then just. Doubles over laughing, like Oikawa’s just told the funniest joke he’s ever heard. Finally, he pushes his hands off his kneecaps.

“I’m _doing_ the tryouts, you dumbass. Flattered you assume I’m good enough to get in through some fancy Elite Athlete’s program like you are, though.”

“Huh?”

He does, at that moment, remember that Aoba Johsai had beaten Johzenji easily and whilst he had been scouted as a setter, he had been the only one in his team. Oikawa had just. assumed. Didn’t really think about it. He flushed.

“Oh god, shit, sorry I didn’t mean you only got in because…”

But Terushima waves a dismissing hand. “Yeah man don’t worry ‘bout it. Everyone thinks I’m dumb shit and half the time I’d agree.”

“No seriously I… look, I do remember you were pretty good, so I’m sure you’ll make at least a reserve wing spiker. Ushiwaka’s pretty much got his teeth in as ace I’m afraid.” Oikawa makes a face, and Terushima wisely does not ask. “But hey, lemme make it up to you? There’s this really great katsu-don place near Okachimachi station, we could go there after tryouts are over?”

Terushima scratches his head, and Oikawa feels his stomach sinking. Rejection hurt more than he thought it would. Not like he’s been rejected before.

“I have work tonight,” the blond mumbles.

“You’re working?” he asks, dumbfounded. Volleyball, study, and work; a bold decision.

Terushima looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, uh, just a couple of nights a week, nothing big. Hey, can you not look like I stepped on your cat? I’m free on Friday night, let’s grab that katsu-don of yours after crimlaw?”

Oikawa looks unsure, but his coach calls out to him, and Oikawa reluctantly agrees. “Yeah, okay. Talk later, Teru-chan.”

* * *

Terushima does, in fact, make it easily as a reserve wing spiker and it wasn’t a testament to his skill either, because Oikawa was quite frankly appalled at the lack of any athletic fitness displayed by the first years. Very few of them had any chance of making it to the official university volleyball team, even on reserve, the skill level gap was so drastic he wonders if some of them had _ever_ played the game because he was pretty sure there was a separate beginner’s tryout. They were sorted into ability levels to form practise sessions anyway.

They finish after 7 and leave the gym together, bags slung over their shoulders. Terushima makes the team as a reserve easily, and there’s a small group of people milling around them, laughing and making plans for training, drinking, parties and cute girls they know— The setting sun filters orange light through the clouds, and Oikawa indulges in the excitement of possibility, a new start, and dreams he could pursue anew.

They diverge at the station, a small group heading out for drinks whilst the others made their excuses.

“We have class again at 9 tomorrow y’know?” Oikawa comments, somewhat offhandedly. “You going to be okay working so late?”

“Yeah, cos I gotta eat.” Terushima’s tone is dryer than sand, and Oikawa wonders if he was wrong to bring it up when he continues, softer. “But yeah, I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Oh, well, if you ever wanna eat together, I can clear any and all dinners plans up for you soo…”

The blond laughs as Oikawa hoped, and something inside him tightens, twists, and Oikawa wonders if it’s healthy to want to see this stranger so much.

“Alright Mr. Smooth, consider me well and charmed. Let’s have that dinner you keep badgering me about on Sunday, okay?”

“I’ll mark it on my diary, put hearts around it.”

“Don’t forget the flowers.”

“Never.”

* * *

Sunday couldn’t come fast enough. It wasn’t that Oikawa never got to see the kid, but he made friends and somehow naturally formed a group and— they weren’t the same people. Or rather, _his_ friends clearly didn’t like Terushima. He was too much, came late too often, hardly ever paid attention, didn’t participate, played Tetris on his laptop during class, painfully bored and not bothering to hide it. Whenever Oikawa sits next to him, his friends always followed, swarming around him, but it’s like there’s a black hole where Terushima sits — he doesn’t even exist to them, and he, in turn, doesn’t try to engage with them at all.

Oikawa gives up trying to talk to him in class.

It was in volleyball practise that Terushima seems to come _alive_. He was good, with an ability to pick up new skills with alarming speed and skill, but it was all untempered, sloppy, undisciplined. Ushijima comes over to where Oikawa is watching a 2v2 match where Terushima is playing with some bench players. Every point scored was a celebration, and the more seasoned players were just that bit off-centre, flushed and half exasperated, half amused by what was happening.

“Looks like he’s having fun,” Ushijima comments.

Oikawa chuckles. He sure did.

“You don’t win by having fun.”

“Rrrrrright, okay yeah, I’ve forgotten how much I hate you, Ushiwaka-kun.”

“As long as you want to win more than you hate me, it doesn’t really matter.”

“Yeah, well, that balance is shifting so don’t sit too comfy.”

“I won’t.”

Oikawa grins at him, all teeth and sharp edges, and figures that having him around wasn’t as bad as he thought. Ushijima was still a dick, but at least he was becoming more self aware about it. There’s a sharp shout as someone gets a volleyball to his face, followed by the sound of maniacal laughing, and Oikawa thinks Terushima definitely likes the people in their volleyball team better than their cohort studying law. He still doesn’t go to any their drink nights, though, and disappears almost as soon as they finish up, each time.

“I gotta catch up on the readings, so I’m heading off yeah? I’ll see you on Sunday! 7 pm, Okachimachi station.” Terushima waves, and runs off with his bag slung over his shoulder.

Ushijima spikes a ball across the empty court behind him, the ringing thud echoing off the walls, hollow.

“Should we continue?” he asks, volleyball slung underneath his arms.

They play until the gym closes later than night, and Oikawa goes home to study until he physically cannot open his eyes anymore. On Thursday Terushima falls asleep during their last class. On Friday, he doesn’t turn up at all, not even to Volleyball practise, and Oikawa worries his lips. He sends Terushima a text— the first one since he got his number.

 

> O: Are you alright? Why didn’t you show up to classes today? Or practise?

There was no reply, and he figures, okay fair enough they weren’t that close or anything. Iwaizumi warns him not to spam him, because he could be a bit of a spammer sometimes, he could admit. On Sunday Oikawa sends another one.

 

> O: Are we still on for dinner?

This time the reply was almost immediate.

 

> T: Yeah sorry I got busy with work. Let’s meet. ;D

Oikawa walks up to the post office they marked to meet up 15 minutes early. Terushima was already there, but a tall brown haired man stood next to him, hunched over almost protectively. They’re engaged in an intense conversation and Oikawa probably shouldn’t intrude, but Terushima sees his approach and moves away from his brown-haired companion, who scowls and Oikawa thinks he looks like a posturing bear. Terushima nods upward at Oikawa and he immediately notices the tired tinge in his eyes. Bags under his eyes, windswept hair.

“Hey, Tooru. Sorry, my friend was just leaving.” Terushima looks pointedly at the man, but he just shrugs. “Right, whatever. See you tomorrow bro.” The brown haired man turns to leave, but not before shooting Oikawa a withering glare.

“Did I intrude?” Oikawa blinks, as they start towards the restaurant.

Terushima laughs, motions his hands dismissively. “Nah, he’s just being paranoid.”

“So when we start dating, am I going to have to start looking over my shoulder?”

An arched brow and curved lips, and Oikawa wants to press his own on them, feel the texture of his pierced tongue.

“You’re super confident that you’re going to that stage. What gives?”

“Cos I’m pretty good, and you’re here with me right now, and no offence but you kinda look like shit. That guy wasn’t your uh, boyfriend is he?”

Oikawa figured he had made it pretty clear that what they were on right now was something of a date, but he’s had angry boyfriends sicced on him before. Not like it was his fault girls liked him more, but he supposed they needed someone to blame.

“Nah, he’s my friend. And co-worker, I guess. So is this katsu-don place close?”

“Oh yeah, it’s just around the corner actually.”

It’s a small shop, tucked away and unassuming. There’s not much space inside and only a couple of other customers sat around a wooden counter. The warm lighting and muted colours made it a comfortable place to relax, and it was clearly not just a place for food for the patrons. There are abstract paintings hung on the walls. Oikawa slings his bag in the cloth container provided underneath each chair, and Terushima moves to follow suit.

“Fancy place for katsu-don,” he murmurs, looking around. Terushima does look out of place, and Oikawa feels a twinge of guilt at not choosing somewhere he figures Terushima would feel more at home. Seeking to impress his date came second nature to him, but then again so did abandoning them for volleyball, so maybe he could use some improvement.

“Because it’s _good_ katsu-don, for the discerning customer. I’m picky. When it comes to food _and when it comes to dates_.”

Oikawa offers a lopsided grin, and Terushima laughs. “But I’m _easy_ , so don’t feel too good about scoring this one, Mr Smooth.” His tone is lighthearted, but Oikawa can’t ignore the feeling of something being off. There was self deprecating humour borne from confidence, and there was… something else.

Oikawa’s been here before and gets his usual. He notices that Terushima orders the cheapest item on the menu, and subsequently decides to order more for himself. If the blond figured out what he was up to, he didn’t comment. The food _is_ good, and Terushima brightens, scoffs down the contents of his bowl with a lack of finesse that makes Oikawa want to pinch his cheeks.

“Glad you’re enjoying it, Teru-chan,” he grins, pushes more of his untouched food over. By now, Oikawa has clued in probably why he hasn’t been turning up to class.

“So have you finished the problems for contracts yet? Kanagawa is actually going to roast us tomorrow, he’s so bad.”

“Nope. I’ve got work, no time. I’ll read it on a train, I’ve got a bit of a commute anyway.”

“Awww that sounds tough.”

“Yeah, that shit makes me want to gouge my eyes anyway.”

“Ohh…” More subdued this time. “Damn, really hate it huh? Did your parents forced you into law?”

“In a way, I guess. It’s complicated. I was offered a scholarship here, and at that point, I figured I’d regret not taking the chance. Get a chance to leave the shithole I was stuck in. I mean, my plan was to go to film school in a local Miyagi university or something. But you really gotta be a rich kid to get anywhere in that industry and… yeah. Sorry.”

Terushima looks so fed up with something, and Oikawa doesn’t ask what he was apologising for. He finishes off the rest of Oikawa’s plate, and there’s a short pregnant silence between the two. Oikawa taps the counter with his fingers.

“Hey um, I actually live pretty close, if you ever need a place to crash before class.” Oikawa regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but they’re out and there’s no going back now. “Like tonight. I feel bad about dragging you out even though it’s so late and we have class… No bad intentions— just asking as a friend… err, teammate, and you don’t have to take it up or anything—”

“Okay.” Terushima cuts him off. “Yeah, that’ll be good. Can I borrow your books?”

“Sure thing.”

So that was that, and what Oikawa said was true, he wasn’t about the jump the kid. He looked exhausted and fine, so he wasn’t exactly the shining example of moral fortitude, but he certainly wasn’t going to drag someone so clearly lacking sleep into bed just because he hadn’t had any in eons.

They headed back to a comfortable apartment a couple of streets away from campus. Oikawa’s parents had bought it for him with the money they had saved for university, no longer needed with his own sports scholarship. It was a bit of a shoebox, but convenient and, well, he never needed to pay rent. That was really the crux of it, wasn’t it? He could work for some pocket money, but if it came down to it, he could comfortably rely on his parents and just concentrate on studying and volleyball.

The night drags on for them as Terushima starts on the problem questions. Oikawa was going to work on another essay when Terushima asks an offhand question, and shit, how come Oikawa never thought of that? He stops what he’s doing and digs through his textbook again, because now he knows that his answer is actually inadequate. Soon, they’re working through the questions together again and whilst Oikawa had known, intellectually, that Terushima was probably pretty smart, but it was another thing entirely to see his mind in action, see him sort through a wealth of complex information to find each relevant piece of data. He considers the counterarguments like threads he unweaves and pieces back together into something of a pattern, an incredible feat of creativity.

They make a good team, with Terushima taking two steps forward with new ways of solving the problem, and Oikawa pointing out the holes in his reasoning. Where Terushima excelled at making the right leaps in interpretation, it was Oikawa who fitted the pieces into the right places of statutes and cases. They work their way to a pretty solid answer, and Oikawa is feeling pretty self satisfied by the end of it, some of the earlier fatigue rubbed away.

“Kanagawa _can’t_ accuse us of being unprepared this time.”

Oikawa blows out a deep breath, pushing backward on his chair. He smiles at Terushima, who looks back at him with a wry smirk. The atmosphere feels suddenly heavy, and Oikawa’s heartbeat picks up, torn between a certain wrongness he suddenly feels and a sense of holy shit this is exactly what he wanted.

“Uhh, you alright there Teru?”

He slides out of the chair and into Oikawa’s lap, and a ringing is sounding in his head, _no no what_. His fingers pulls at the hem of his shirt, and he leans forward.

“Mmm, ’m fine. Let’s just get to it yeah?”

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Drake’s [“Blessings."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M6t47RI4bns)
> 
> The dialectical method they use is Hegel’s [_thesis, antithesis and synthesis_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thesis,_antithesis,_synthesis).


End file.
